Arena
by BigLoch
Summary: The Imperial City is the heart of Tamriel, home of the Emperor. A place of hope and a symbol of unity. However, not is all as it seems as Talin arrives in the city to begin her new life. An impostor, treachery and murder set forth a course of events that send her life into a dangerous spiral. With betrayal on her heels and an Empire on the hunt, Talin has a lot to learn...


-1-

Talin sighed, picking at the corner of one of the cobbled floor stones with disinterest. Her cell was dark and damp, right down in the corner of the palace's dungeons. The irony was bitter.

'_Go to the Capital, Talin,' _her mother had said, _'there's so much opportunity for you there.'_

Talin gave the stone an angry flick, reddening her finger. The palace guards had taken everything from her, her necklace, ring, clothes, money and dagger. She sat in the small pile of old hay they had designated her 'bed', not bothering to hide her pout. Her guards had been restrained, and were either in cells like her or arguing for her release. She pitied the Imperials. Mace may seem like an old man, but had a fiery temper, often drawing his sword over the smallest of matters.

Then there was Jorn.

She smiled despite herself, thinking of the handsome Nord. The two of them had bonded over the journey to Cyrodiil, his gifts of flowers from the side of the road causing scoffs from Mace, but Talin ignored him every time. In her home city of Wayrest she was often overlooked by men, always last to be chosen to dance at the local balls, until she just stopped bothering to turn up. She had been tall and chubby in her youth. Only after months of coaching and coaxing from her mother, she lost her weight through exercising and fasting. Despite this however, she was still no beauty, brown hair, plain brown eyes, pale skin, six foot tall and with an unsightly blemish on her left cheek. It was purple, like a permanent bruise, and impossible to hide, even with powders and creams.

Talin stood and walked over to the bars and tried to look down the hall. Nothing. Further up there she knew there was a guard at the door, but she couldn't see that far, even when she pressed her face hard up against the bars.

_Hurry up Jorn! _She had been in this cage for hours. Still no rescue, neither from her guards, nor her stupid half sister.

And this was all her fault.

Talin couldn't remember much about the man who had been her mother's lover, but it was a bitter memory, even twenty years later. Her own father had been killed by a pirate raid, so it had only been her and her mother until this new man, an Imperial from Cyrodiil had entered the picture. He was nice at first, the three of them moving into a larger house, eating better food. He had even been kind to Talin, a rarity in her life.

Then _she _had been born.

Talin barely remembered seeing her baby sister before. Brown hair, brown eyes and darker skin were all she remembered. Then one night, after a screaming fight that echoed through the whole house, he had taken her and left. After that it was just Talin and her mother.

Alone again.

She ruffled the hay, fanning it out to cushion as much of her body as it could from the stone. Lying on her back, she stifled a yawn. It had been a long day of travelling before she had been arrested at the gates of the palace. Her legs and back ached from the saddle, and the previous night she had stayed up late, flirting with Jorn. She smiled to herself. Hopefully he hadn't gotten himself hurt. Part of her hoped he was on his way back to Wayrest, safe and planning to come back with help. The other part wanted to see him dash through the door, fighting off the Imperial guards to free her from this wretched cell.

Closing her eyes, she couldn't help but think back to her half sister. She may have only seen her a few times as an infant, but she had heard tales of the great Ria Silmane spread all over Tamriel. The most aspiring college student in the Mages Guild in Cyrodiil, taken on as an apprentice for the Emperor's own personal battlemage at the young age of eighteen. Most Bretons had an even mixture of elven and human blood in them, giving them a slight advantage over other humans with magical abilities. Talin herself could perform a healing spell, tapping the force known as magicka in her body to accelerate the mending of her wounds. But in High Rock, a province full of Bretons, her talent was considered mediocre at best.

So that's what got her sent here. At twenty-nine years of age, unmarried and unskilled; her mother had finally saved up the coin to send her to Cyrodiil, where hopefully she would stand out a little better.

Or at least find herself some form of luck.

Talin scoffed to herself.

A jaw cracking yawn burst from her mouth and she closed her eyes momentarily, weariness winning the battle over discomfort. With her last thoughts being of her stupid sister sitting in some fancy room sipping wine, whilst she suffered, Talin began to drift, the flickering torch in the hallway dimming.

She was standing on the docks at Wayrest, smoke billowing through the air, mixing with the familiar salty breeze. Tainting it.

Ships burned in the bay, in the distance she heard cries and the clamour of battle, rising and falling with the waves.

Next to her, stood a short, brown haired woman, petite and beautiful in deep blue robes. The two of them looked into one another's eyes, and Talin frowned. Something wasn't right.

"Where are we?" Asked the strange woman, looking confused.

"Wayrest." Talin answered absently, her words slow and sluggish. She looked back out over to the cluster of ships.

"This is where my father died." The other woman nodded, eyes not leaving Talin. It had not happened, yet. This was obviously a dream. It was not until hours after the actual battle she had received news of her father's death.

"Talin, you need to listen to me." The robed one pleaded, voice desperate. Talin looked to her, noticing tears in the other woman's eyes. Confusion rocked the dream.

"Who are you?" She asked. The mage took her hand and Talin jolted, her mind clouding at the touch.

"My name is Ria Silmane. I'm your sister Talin." Talin took her arm back, stepping away from her.

"But I don't..."

"There's no time," Ria said, stepping forward and taking Talin's hand again, "you must listen to me carefully. The Emperor, he is being impersonated, by my master, Jagar Tharn." Talin shook her head.

"What?" She was drifting. She felt her body jolt in the cell.

"Just listen. You need to find the eight pieces of the Staff of Chaos. Understand? I can't stay; I am delivering this message at too great a cost as it is. I need you to remake the Staff. Understand? You're the only one who I could form a connection with before..." Everything shifted, and Talin's body jerked again. Ria's body began to fade, flowing away like a gentle mist.

"Wait, what do you mean? What pieces? Where?" Talin's questions shook the bay. Tears streamed down Ria's face as she placed her hands on Talin's head.

"Goodbye, sister." She whispered. Then there was a blinding flash.

_A castle in sand, a maze in snow, an oaken army, pillars of giants, a tower of knowledge, a dark sanctuary, a blazing mountain, a cruel face._

Talin screamed as she awoke, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her body, rubbing uncomfortably against the rough cloth she had been forced to wear.

_What was that?_ The dream had been so vivid, and those flashes. Trying to shake the thoughts from her head she stood. Walking to the bars she looked down the hall again, trying to catch a glimpse of the guard. Still she saw nobody.

And then there it was, on the ground. A tiny river of blood was making its way through the cracks and crevices of the stones. Looking up, her heart dropped.

Three men, clad in Imperial armor with swords drawn, striding directly to her cell.


End file.
